


Stars Fading, But I Linger On, Dear

by orphan_account



Series: Dream a Little Dream Of Me [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, song related
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-19
Updated: 2013-01-19
Packaged: 2017-11-26 01:48:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/645191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade takes his opportunities as he finds them.  A tiny fluffy sequel to <i>Stars Shining Bright</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Stars Fading, But I Linger On, Dear

_Stars Fading But I Linger On, Dear_

Mycroft Homes is as in control in the kitchen as he is everywhere else. Well, everywhere else except bed, but one does not discuss private matters in public, thank you very much. In the kitchen, he is calm, graceful, efficient. He follows recipes to the letter, tidies as he goes, and produces good (if perhaps a little unimaginative) food, exactly on schedule.

Detective Inspector Lestrade rarely feels as if he's in control of anything, but he's not really too bothered by that. He's spent most of his life bouncing between his need for freedom, and the strictures of the bureaucracy that threaten to overwhelm his job. He grumbles about having to chase down nasty little scrotes and vicious thugs, but he's fooling no-one; it's obvious he could spend most of his day in his office directing investigations rather than leading them from the front if he preferred. In the kitchen, Lestrade is the Jamie Oliver to Mycroft's Delia; he blitzes and bashes and chucks a meal together from whatever's to hand. "If in doubt, bung in some garlic" seems to be his personal motto.

As a result of these conflicting styles, Lestrade and Mycroft have come to an unspoken agreement that only one of them will cook at a time. Tonight it's Mycroft's turn, Lestrade standing back, swigging from a bottle of very cold Italian beer, watching Mycroft sip red wine and assemble a lasagne. Lestrade has never been able to understand how anyone who's made a lasagne once would ever need to look at a recipe again, but he's appreciative enough of the way Mycroft moves around the kitchen - economical, graceful, fluid - to hold back from commenting, and just admire the view.

They don't often talk while sorting out their evening meal. They both need a little decompression time after work, time to simply enjoy each other's company, to let go of the day, to enjoy the ritual of one watching the other work. Frequently there's music in the background, soft enough to create a mood without dominating. Classical if Mycroft chooses, something pre-80s for Lestrade. Tonight was Lestrade's choice, and he's put on his Ella Fitzgerald playlist.

A song comes on that makes him smile. Lestrade's never quite sure if Mycroft's heard him sing the words, or whether they've drifted into Mycroft's subconscious without his realising, or even if Mycroft has no idea what song is the lullaby that eases him out of his nightmares and into a peaceful sleep. But it's a song that makes Lestrade smile, because for him it's all warmth and holding close and helping someone you love feel safe, memories of wrapping himself around Mycroft mixing with memories of being held and comforted.

Lestrade steps forward, humming softly. Mycroft looks up, smiles, turns back to his laminated recipe card. Lestrade wraps his arms around Mycroft's waist, murmuring so quietly that Mycroft can barely hear.

"I'm longing to linger till dawn, dear..."

Lestrade nuzzles into Mycroft's neck; Mycroft makes a small, appreciative noise as he tips his head back, leans into the embrace.

"... just saying this."

Lestrade gently spins Mycroft around, arms around his waist still. He starts moving, slowly, swaying a little, easing Mycroft with him, until they're slow dancing. The rest of the words are lost to the soft, slow, intense kiss that lasts until the next song.

Lestrade pulls back, smiling, slightly sheepishly, at Mycroft. Mycroft is positively beaming, slightly flushed at the unexpected attention. He leans forward, pecks Lestrade on the lips, gives a tiny hum of happiness.

"Now, out of my way, you, so I can finish preparing dinner. Go on, shoo."

He waves Lestrade back to the doorway. Lestrade groans, grinning, but retreats to his usual place, watching as Mycroft bustles about. Mycroft is smiling and clearly a little flustered, but humming quietly and happily to himself.

_Dream a little dream of me_

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in April 2011


End file.
